


I'm sick of meaning, I just wanna hold you

by juliadawson



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Banter, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Drinking, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Partying, Richie Tozier is Whipped, Roommates, Sassy Stanley Uris, Seduction, Sex Toys, Sexual Tension, Sub Top Richie Tozier, and so is richie, eddie's a fucking idiot, like intense sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliadawson/pseuds/juliadawson
Summary: From the prompt sent to @incorrectitquotes"college roommates eddie & richie, and eddies like yeah hes kinda hot, w/e (or so he tells himself) richie sporadically brings someone home, and eddie finds it annoying but what can ya do. until one day richie brings home a guy and eddie realizes richies bi and he might have a chance and from that point on eddie just goes,,,, haywire, absolutely feral horny for him"





	1. Strange as Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure flirting, banter, and internal conflict. And next chapter is probably gonna be pure flirting, banter and smut so beware lmao

“You don’t understand, dude!” 

There’s a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line, and after a long beat a slightly irritated “what the fuck do I not understand?”

“He could be a maniac! He could be dirty and smell like Doritos and ignore the Cleaning Agreement!” The sentences stumble out of his mouth like they’re just one gigantic word. “Do you not get the gravity of the situation, Stan? Why’d you have to leave me?” Stan can’t see him but he knows he’s pouting. 

“Look, Eddie, I am very sorry.” A hysterical voice tries to interrupt him but he continues talking, “I really am. But you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna pass on a single just because your new roommate might ‘ignore the cleaning agreement’,” and he says that last part as if it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing in his whole entire life. “If you need anything you can come over,” he adds, a bit softer, “it’s really not that far. But now I really have to go. See ya.”

Eddie sighs, cross legged on his bed. He’s been staring at the door for at least an hour, and there’s no sight of his asshole new roommate. Whoever he is, Eddie hates him already. 

He wants to hate Stan, too, for all the anxiety he’s had to put himself through, but he can’t help but admire the boy’s talent to get anything he wants. Whenever he asks him how the fuck he managed to snag a single, he just shrugs and gives him a mysterious “I know a guy.”

Eddie starts to wonder, admittedly not for the first time, if Stan is actually in his 30s and part of the Secret Service when the door slams itself open. He startles out of his thoughts, but there’s really nobody there.

“Pshhhhttttt, we interrupt your regular scheduled programming” a long leg takes a step forward, but the rest of this idiot’s body is still hidden behind the doorframe, “to bring you new-roommate-extraordinaire Richard Tozier” the guy comes into view and cheers to himself, waving his hands up like some crazy person, and oh. Oh……

It’s _That guy. _

He’s even fucking taller up close, a skinny disaster with messy black hair and a thin silver nose ring. Eddie would probably feel like more of an idiot for staring if only this Richard guy wasn’t staring right back looking just as dumb, mouth hanging slightly open. 

“Well, well, well,” he says, in a stupid drawl, “looks like I must be in the wrong place. Nobody told me this was angel school,” he grins while he plops down dramatically on the bed opposite to Eddie. “You can call me Richie, angelface,” and Eddie would have punched that wink right out of his face if he wasn’t blushing so damn hard. 

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he huffs, already exasperated, “I have a name, you know that right?”

Richie just stares back at him with an oddly fond look on his face, and he snaps “Why the fuck are you looking at me like that???”

“Sorry, you’re just so damn cute.” Eddie’s face scrunches up. “What can I call you?”

“Eddie is fine,” he softens a bit, offering a small smile.

“Okay, Eds!” And he wants to kill him all over again.

* 

Turns out even though Richie is A Lot, he’s really easy to get along with. Eddie has no idea how it happened, but they fall on an easy routine of continuous banter and mutual teasing. And even though Richie is chaos incarnate, and actually _does_ smell like Doritos powder sometimes, he agrees to help Eddie clean twice a week. Honestly, he _might_ get in the way more than he actually helps, but Eddie appreciates the company either way. 

He also has amazing friends that thankfully take up to Eddie like he’s always been there. That first week, a head of red hair popped up on their door mid bickering session with a “hello, Eddie. Is this idiot behaving himself?”, followed not much later by a ridiculously kind guy who’s apparently on their football team. 

They come to hang out often and Eddie makes a mental note to introduce them to Stan, Bill and Ben, the only people he talks to regularly at school, but still some of the best friends he’s ever had.

Right now, though, they’re on their own on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Eddie is making him finally unpack all his stuff (“Richie, it’s been 5 weeks!”), and helping him hang his clothes neatly in their shared wardrobe. 

Richie has a really odd sense of style, his clothes half goth, half dad on vacation. He’s currently showing Eddie his collection of long socks with wacky prints, under the premise of being a “fashion icon”.

“Rich, you own like 15 Hawaiian shirts. Are you seriously implying you’re anything more than a future What Not to Wear nominee?” 

“First of all, how dare you,” Richie puts a hand over his heart, “Second of all, What Not to Wear was cancelled like a century ago. Sorry to burst your bubble, Spagheds.” And he has the nerve to pinch Eddie’s cheek while he makes his way to the wardrobe.

Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but Richie has spotted something, and he’s sporting that annoying face that says he won’t shut the fuck up about whatever it is for weeks. 

“Oh,” he breathes, “whoa ho hoooo,” and he’s grabbing something from inside their wardrobe, “here they are,” says Richie through a grin, “the infamous Red Shorts!”

“What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?” Eddie splutters.

“You can’t possibly think I’ve never seen you around, can you, honeybun?” his eyebrows wiggling as though they have a life of their own. 

And Eddie really fucking hates it when he does that. 

Fine. He knows Richie’s a flirt, so why can’t his stomach get the message and stop fucking dropping whenever he says that stuff? He’s seen the boy say similar things to all of his friends, and they all laugh it off and roll their eyes and push him playfully.

Sometimes, though, when he lets himself think too much about it, Eddie kinda feels like it’s different with him, somehow. His eyes softer, his touch lingering. And that’s terrible, it’s no fucking bueno, because he knows Richie and he knows he’s straight. 

He’s seen the way he dances with girls at parties, and he still hasn’t forgiven him for all the times he’s made him wait in Stans bedroom while he fucks whatever rando he’s found that night. 

“I have no idea why they keep going home with him!” He gestures drunkenly to an unimpressed Stan. “Like yeah, okay, he _might_ be handsome, or whatever. If you think 6’4 of lanky idiot is attractive, I guess. But come on! He’s so fucking awkward, Stan! The guy manages to trip over his own damn feet and knock off everything in a 2 mile radius wherever he goes!”

Stan blinks at him slowly, and Eddie takes it as an invitation to keep talking. “Not to mention how goddamn annoying he can be. And his cheesy lines! Ugh, terrible. I can’t believe anyone would fall for it,” he rambles, words spilling easily out of his mouth.

“Eddie,” Stan starts carefully, like he’s been thinking it over and trying to decide if it’s actually worth saying, “are you jealous?” And he’s already holding his breath, because he knows Eddie way too well. 

“What?!” The words come out way higher than necessary, and Stan absentmindedly puts his fingers on his temple, “No!! He’s just inconvenient! I want to fucking sleep! That room is mine, too, remember?” Eddie stares at him incredulously, “Because you fucking left me!!!” He adds. 

“Okay, god, I’m sorry,” but Eddie knows he’s not sorry at all. 

* 

Life truly sucks sometimes. Really, it all feels like one big joke on Eddie’s expense. Because when his stupid gay brain finally, FINALLY, begins to accept that Richie’s only just kidding when he flirts with him like that, that his pointed looks and bashful smiles are just a part of one big elaborate gag, he sees it. 

He was hanging out with Bev on a dingy dorm party, not even minding all that much how sticky the floor feels and how loud they’re blasting the music with the pleasant buzz his mind is in. When Bev excuses herself to smoke a cigarette outside and says she’ll text Eddie when she gets back in, he doesn’t particularly care that he’s alone. He might even make some rounds and look for a cute guy to make out with. 

A small crowd catches his attention while he’s on his way to grab another drink, and he worms his way inside it. Being a lil bit short _can_ have its perks, he reasons, even though he’ll fight whoever dares to imply he’s anything but average sized.

“Shit,” the words come out of his mouth on their own volition, but he honestly can’t blame them. 

Inside the circle of loud college students stands Richie, violently making out with some guy. The crowd cheers and wolf-whistles, a chant of “RICH, RICH, RICH,” almost unintelligible, and Richie flips them off without opening his eyes. 

Eddie immediately turns around with full intention of just bolting to find Bev, needing the comfort of good old familiarity, but life, as usual, refuses to let him get what he wants. He stumbles head first into Bill.

“H-Hey Eddie!” Bill shouts over the music and the roaring partygoers. “So, Ruh-Richie, huh?” He points vaguely with his thumb in the direction of the crowd, clearly way out of it himself.

“Oh, yeah. Just some stupid bet,” Eddie says quickly, trying to slip out of the conversation. But Bill, as fucking always, has other plans. 

“Bet?” He frowns slightly. “Doesn’t s-seem like a bet t-to me,” and he’s eyeing Eddie curiously now, in a way that makes his face start to get hot, for some reason.

“Oh, you know this guy, Big Bill,” he tries for enthusiastic, “never chickens out on a bet. Thaaat’s Richie. Ha, ha. Listen, man, I gotta go now. See you around!” and he’s making his way outside without waiting for an answer.

* 

He tries to forget about The Incident. He really does. But it creeps up on him constantly, in the most inconvenient moments, and he _wants_. 

“You truly are incapable of staying still for a single fucking second, huh?” Eddie tries holding Richie’s hand steady, applying black nail polish evenly to Richie’s nails. Or as even as he can manage, with Richie constantly turning to look around the room, his legs jiggling rhythmically, the living image of restless.

“Eds, this is booooring,” he whines, “there’s nothing wrong with my cracked nail polish. It’s a whole ass look. You just know nothing about style.” Richie sticks his tongue out at him like a child. 

Richie’s nails were a true mystery to Eddie. There was always some kind of cracked black nail polish on them, that I-have-been-wearing-this-for-weeks look. Thing is: Eddie’s been living with him for a few months now. And he’s never seen Richie reapply it. But he’s also never seen it completely fade away, either. It was a baffling paradox and Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

So he makes Richie let him paint them, have them looking manicured for once in his life.

“They looked straight up filthy, Richie! What the fuck!” He adds a fresh coat to Richie’s middle finger.

“You should see the filthy things these fingers can do,” Richie grins at him, glint in his eyes. “Also, what if looking filthy is my thing, sweet cheeks?” 

“Then you’re really achieving the look.” There’s a _fucking idiot_ muffled under his breath. “When was the last time you brushed your hair, if ever?” He brings his hand to Richie’s curls to prove his point, smoothing over them, and his hand catches immediately. Richie holds in a small moan at the tug. “See?” Eddie starts, but Richie’s cheekbones are dusted pink and he’s avoiding his eyes.

_Huh, guess I might’ve gone too far? _ Eddie shrugs, unaware. _Whatever. _

When Richie finally shuts the fuck up, Eddie lets his mind wander while he carefully paints the remaining nails. It goes to the only place his subconscious has known ever since The Incident.

Richie’s hands are beautiful, enormous but elegant. Fingers long and slim, greenish veins poking through his skin. “You should see the filthy things they can do,” and _yes_, he’d very much love to. The thought of his huge hands sliding through his neck, his waist, slipping under his shirt. One of them gripping him hard by his middle while the other slips down and down and _down_ until it’s squeezing his ass, Richie’s hot breath on his neck.

He shuts his eyes hard to will the images out of his mind. 

“Eddie?” A voice pipes in, curious, “you okay?”

“Y-yes. All good.” He takes a good look at his work, and decides it can’t get any better than that. “We’re all finished.”

“They look pretty,” Richie says, so soft it makes his heart ache. “Thank you, Eds.” He goes to grab at Eddie’s hands, grateful, and the moment ends. 

“Oh my god! Your hands, spaghetti!” He looks in awe, “they’re _tiny_!”

Eddie stares at his hands, engulfed in Richie’s, and they’re so fucking big, and it’s so fucking _hot_, and he only manages a “shutthefuckup” before he makes an excuse and gets the hell out of there. If he jerks off in the shower thinking about what else those ridiculous hands could be doing, then nobody has to know. 

* 

“Okay, but that’s not all,” Eddie grabs Ben by the shoulders, both of them halfway to blackout drunk, and makes him look straight into his eyes, “I go in our room, right? And Rich is watching a movie. I climb on his bed with him, yeah? We always watch movies together and stuff, and he’s usually into some trashy B horror shit, but lo and fucking behold,” He looks at Ben dramatically.

“What? What happened?” Ben urges, giggling slightly. The boy loves a bit of scandalous gossip. There’s never much happening with the Architecture students. 

“It’s Titanic. He’s watching Titanic. And I’m thinking, no way, this is so fucking gay. And I go ‘why the fuck are you watching Titanic’ and guess what he fucking says, Ben,” Eddie looks like he’s going to lose it at any second now, “He goes: ‘Young Leo’s fucking hot, man. You don’t even want to hear the things I’d like to do to him,’ and he fucking groans theatrically at that,” Eddie looks as though he’s about to cry of frustration, “and he cuddles me through the whole movie saying dumb Richie shit but I’m completely out of it, Ben!! How can I focus on anything after he says something like that!” He finally finishes.

Eddie had called Ben, his reliable straight friend, to get drunk and thoroughly analyze Richie’s every move for the past few weeks. Some kind of sexuality investigation team, if you will. Ben had told him already how dumb it all was, and to just ask Richie, but just the idea of talking to him about it makes the contents of Eddies stomach churn. 

So Ben had indulged him, like the good friend he is, and there they are, sitting on a booth in their cheapest local bar. 

“That’s strange, yeah,” Ben says, thoughtful, “But I mean, young Leo Dicaprio really is easy on the eyes. Not even the straightest of obnoxiously straight guys can deny that,” he adds, always one to think rationally. 

“Ugh, Ben, I’m gonna die. I’ve been so horny for him these days, it physically hurts. It’s a constant state of blue balls and if I ever have to watch his shirt ride up while he stretches again I swear I’m-“

“Okay, Eddie, I think we should wrap it for today,” Ben cuts him off hurriedly. “You know you’re overthinking it, right? Just ask him already. Or maybe Bev, or something,” he looks at him sympathetically. “It’s all gonna be okay, Eddie. Promise.” 

But Eddie doesn’t think he can take the suspense anymore.

* 

And that leads him to now, sprawled on his bed, still half drunk, and absolutely exhausted. Jawbreaker (1999) is playing on his laptop, forgotten while he spaces out, big pack of skittles thrown at the foot of the bed and a few colorful candies spread around his blanket. 

There are two loud knocks on the door, and without waiting for an answer (typical), in comes Richie, big goofy smile on his face.

“Hey, Eds!!!” He says, overly enthusiastic, a bit too loud. “This is Jacob!” He gestures his hands dramatically to the guy leaning on him, arm thrown around his neck.”

“Hey, man!” Says Jacob, who Eddie tries to discretely check out with a brief once over then guilty smile. 

“Uh. Hello.” He’s looking at them, waiting for whatever the fuck they could possibly want from him at 2am.

“So….” Richie raises his brows.

Eddie stares at them.

“Can you give us a minute?” Richie tries, smiling sheepishly now. Huh. That’s new. 

“Maybe a couple hours,” Jacob pipes in, and whatever bashful energy had gotten hold of Richie promptly leaves him while he cackles.

“He’s right, spaghetti man. I’m nothing if not thorough.” And he fucking. Winks at him.

Holy shit.

“Uh, sure…” Eddie mumbles, a bit pathetically, “er, sorry,” and he hasn’t felt this awkward in a long, long time. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, he exhales deeply. What the fuck. What kind of weird alternative reality is this. Eddie always urged Richie to shut his annoying mouth about his damn multiverse theories, but turns out maybe he should’ve listened.

_Oh my fucking god,_ Eddie thinks. _How’d I end up in an alternative reality where listening to what Richie Tozier has to say is a good idea?_

Well. It’s whatever, Eddie hyperventilates. Not a big deal. Breathe in, breathe out. 

A muffled but unmistakable moan comes from behind the door. 

_Yup, that’s it. I’m done, _ Thinks Eddie while speedwalking to Stan’s room. 

* 

“Stan!” He barges into the room.

A messy head of curls peeks at him through the darkness. He can hear him saying something under his breath. It sounds vaguely like a prayer.

“Richie’s bi!” He all but wails at his friend.

Stan stares at him, expression serious and unimpressed, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some sort of sick joke. When he’s sure Eddie has nothing more to add, he says, “No shit, Eddie,” and buries his face back under his covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is bodys by car seat headrest  
chapter title is just like heaven by the cure  
please leave a comment if you like this at all!! i love hearing from yall <3


	2. These are the Good Old Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, they were roomates

Turns out Eddie really did prefer the suspense, after all. Suspense, huh? That’s the stuff. Give it to him any day of the week. Ah, to go back to the good old days of obliviousness…

Knowing he might have a chance with Richie makes it all so much worse, somehow. The tension heightened, his senses on overdrive. 

If it were anyone else, he’d just go for it. Eddie knows he’s attractive, has a decently good body, and he knows damn well how to get what he wants. But Richie’s a whole enigma to him. Every single word that comes out of the boy’s mouth is a joke, and Eddie really doesn’t want to fuck this whole thing up jumping to conclusions. 

They’re roommates, so it’d be awkward, yeah. But above all, they’re friends, and Eddie values this friendship way too much.

It doesn’t stop him from _noticing_, though. 

The two of them had been hanging out a lot these past few days, and Eddie’s suddenly aware of his newly developed sharp eye for detail. If this new skill happens to apply only to Richie, then it’s his fault entirely, for always being so up in his personal space. 

Richie has 3 cute moles on the right side of his neck. There’s a small cut on his bottom lip that never heals, because he won’t stop biting at it. His freckles get darker when Eddie manages to drag him outside to get some sun, and they spread all the way to his cheekbones. A small, crooked, almost fading scar on the left side of his chin. 

He tries not to stare, he swears, but Richie makes it so fucking hard for him.

“Nice shirt, idiot,” Eddie had snorted at Richie not two days ago, throwing his keys behind him as he came into their room. Richie had been lounging, bit of smoke from a finished cigarette swirling through the air while he listened to his newest playlist (“Musical masterpiece, Eds. This one’s going in the history books!”). He wore a huge and surprisingly soft looking shirt that said _personally victimized by Regina George_.

Richie beams at him, and Eddie’s heart insists on missing a beat. Apparently, though, Richie’s going for a full-on heart attack. 

“You like it, schweetheart?” He grabs the hem of the shirt and abruptly takes it off, as if it’s the most natural thing one could do in this situation. “Well, it’s all yours. Can’t say no to that little face.” He throws it carelessly in Eddie’s direction, and if he knows what he’s doing to Eddie, he doesn’t show it. 

Yeah, he’s seen Richie shirtless his fair share of times, fleeting moments while changing for bed or groggily choosing what to wear in the morning. Nothing like this, though, all spread out on his bed for Eddie to marvel at. He’s impossibly long and slim, his shoulders broad with a hint of lean muscle underneath, skinny jeans hanging low on his hips.

“What the hell!” Eddie splutters, immediately half covering his eyes with his hand. “I didn’t ask for this at all! Why are you half naked?” He thinks about peeking through his fingers but ultimately doesn’t trust himself to look. 

“Do I make you nervous, pumpkin?” Richie looks endlessly amused at the whole scene, and when Eddie reddens at this he actually snorts with laughter. “Seriously, Eds, put it on! Can’t say I’ve never thought about what you’d look like in my clothes,” he smirks at him so evilly, Eddie thinks Jesus might actually make a reappearance just to drag the both of them straight to hell. 

“I am _not_ putting these on. There’s not a chance in the world,” Eddie manages to huff out under the deafening sound of his beating heart. He knows everything has to be a joke to Richie, fine. But the boner he’d pop if he were engulfed in Richie’s smell while looking at him shirtless and teasing on his bed, oh… That’d be no joke at all. 

Richie frowns a little. He usually hides it okay, but Eddie knows him too well by now. “If this is about the shirt being Mean Girls, then how _dare_ you. It’s one of the classics of our generation,” he says, mock incredulous, but Eddie knows it’s not really what he wanted to say, so he just stares at him.

“Ugh. What’s got your panties in a bunch today, huh, princess?” Richie straight up sulks. _You_, Eddie thinks, but his nervousness melts a little bit at his tone.

“I have no idea how you manage to call me by everything but my real name. It’s a real talent, Rich,” he throws Richie a tentative smile, and is glad to see him relax a bit, smile back bright, and he’ll do anything to make him look at him like that again. “It’s nothing, by the way. Just a bit stressed…”

He’s back to full-on beaming now, patting the space next to him excitedly, “oooohhh, c’mere then my sweet little spaghetti bowl. I’ve got the perfect cure,” and Eddie’s so fond he could die.

Richie wraps his arms around him and they listen to a gentler playlist, talking softly, Richie humming lyrics next to his ear, and he thinks he’s gonna burst from how happy and at peace he feels. He’s almost falling asleep with Richie’s hand running through his hair, but is still awake to hear him mumble, “this one makes me think of you. I should really make you a playlist.”

And oh… He’s _fucked_.

* 

Eddie lies stiff on his bed, blushing red from head to toe in anticipation of what he’s about to do. It’s been a while, since about the time Stan left with his strict and reliable schedule which Eddie could plan around and was replaced by Richie, who barged in unannounced and unexpected in the most inopportune moments, no warning, no knocking.

So it had lain there, forgotten in his drawer, until Richie found it, eventually. The boy had absolutely no boundaries or sense of personal space, so it was bound to happen. 

His demise starts when he comes home from work one day, ready to erase the annoying fucking customers with their aggravatingly elaborate orders from his mind, finally free of the sickly-sweet smell of smoothies.

He opens the door, whistling easily, and immediately feels like something’s wrong. There’s a suspicious lack of obnoxious sounds coming from Richie’s side of the room.

Richie’s sat down on his bed, right next to his still open drawer, with the most enormous grin on his face. And he’s holding… Oh, god. 

“Is this _yours_?” Richie manages to grin even wider. Eddie would be surprised his face hadn’t cartoonishly split in half at that, if only he wasn’t having a mental breakdown. 

“What the fuck!” He bolts to his bed, his entire body burning hot. Richie’s holding it tall, now, between two fingers, out of Eddie’s reach. Damn these long lanky stupid ass arms. “Richie! Why the fuck are you going through my stuff!” And he’s now holding Richie’s arm, trying to pull it down while the other boy cackles maniacally. 

“Oh my god! You have a fucking vibrator!” Eddie thinks he’s gonna pass out. “It’s bright pink, too!” And there are tears rolling down Richie’s face, unattractive snorts escaping his throat. Despite himself, a small giggle escapes Eddie’s lips, and they’re suddenly tumbled together, laughing roariously. 

“Richie! Shut the fuck up!” Eddie manages to get out between huffs of laughter, “do you want the whole building to hear?”

“What? That you have a Big. Pink. Vibrator.?” Richie says, purposefully loud, cupping the sides of his mouth like a mock megaphone. And Eddie’s hitting him wherever he can reach, admittedly not very hard, because all of his focus is at controlling his laughter. 

“It’s average sized, asshole!” Eddie croaks, indignant. “And stop fucking saying that!”

“Okay, okay,” Richie’s grinning, crooked, soft giggles coming out unexpectedly. “Oh my god, Eddie, we _need_ to name it.”

“Please, don’t,” but Eddie’s amused look betrays him.

“Alexander, the _Great_.” Richie says with conviction, and Eddie loses it again. “Alex, in short.” They’re both right back to sidesplitting laughter. 

In the weeks that come, Richie doesn’t tell anyone about it. He can be an annoying asshole sometimes, but he’s a good friend, and knows Eddie’s limit. 

But Richie, being Richie, does find a way to talk cryptically about “Alex” in whatever opportunity he finds. 

Eddie snaps at him in front of his friends? “God, Eddie. You’ve been so stressed these days. Why don’t you go see Alex for a bit? You need it,” and confused looks float his way. Eddie’s a master in conveying “don’t push it or I’ll kill you” with just one look, though, so they all leave it alone.

Eddie checks out a guy? “Alex not cutting it anymore, bud?” Making Eddie’s cheeks tint pink as he slaps Richie’s shoulder.

Eddie joins everyone to hang out somewhere? “Hey guys. You all heard the news? Eddie’s fucking an Emperor,” followed by Mike asking jokingly, “is this some kind of new slang I’m not cool enough to know about?”

It all seems like normal Richie behavior, for a while, but Eddie can’t help noticing something _odd_. Whenever a guy takes interest in Eddie, Richie’s there in a heartbeat, arm wrapping around Eddie’s shoulder while he says, good naturedly, “sorry to be the one to tell you, pal, but he has a boyfriend. Name’s Alex. Really great guy.”

And Eddie wills himself to not make much of it, but he swears Richie hasn’t hooked up with anyone in a long time. Thinking back on the last times they all went to clubs, or big rowdy frat parties, Richie would just be there turning it out on the dancefloor with his ridiculous dances and awkward moves, jumping up and down with Bev. 

When Eddie asks him about it, he just says, lightly, that he's ‘_just really not in the mood_.' When Eddie looks at him like he just got abducted and replaced with a defective alien copy, he just adds, gesturing to himself, ‘_yeah, I know. Depriving the world of all this? An outrage_!’

It’s driving Eddie wild, this uncertainty, this feeling (that he doesn’t really let himself dwell on too much) that _something_ is going on. It just makes Eddie pine more and more, and then he can’t take it any longer. He’s gonna have to pull out the big guns, no pun intended.

**Spaghetti Man**  
[3:14] _hey rich. dont come home before 5pm. i know ur working till 6 but jic _

The stupid name blinks on his screen not a minute after he sends the message. They have this game going on, where Richie will steal Eddie’s phone away whenever he’s not looking and change his own name to the most ridiculous shit he can think of.

**Papi Ricardo [fire emoji]**  
[3:15] _ooooo_  
[3:15] _mysterious_  
[3:17] _wait. have a date w alex huh?!?!??!1?@//_  
[3:17] _could of just asked for my help u kno_  
[3:17] _wouldnt mind helping a friend out. im a selfless guy_  
[3:17] _and im bigger ;)_  
[3:18] _lmaooo_  
[3:18] _jk_  
[3:21] _or am i???? _

When his screen doesn’t stop blinking with new messages and he can feel Richie’s jittery energy, palpable, all the way through his phone, Eddie’s surprised to see that he feels _delighted_. Feels like finally getting him back for all the restless nights, for the confusion haunted days. 

He could ignore Richie, could just leave it ambiguous, but he answers with a provocative “yea” and locks his phone, putting it away. Sighing deeply, he digs in his drawer for its contents, the trusty toy and a bottle of lube, skin already prickled with gooseflesh. 

Eddie thinks of Richie, flustered at work, thinking of him pleasuring himself with his vibrator, and he feels a hot shiver running all the way to his toes. His ridiculous skinny jeans, skin tight and leaving nothing to imagination, Richie hard and squirming just for him, him, _him_. Runs his hand slowly through his chest, but they’re really Richie’s hands in his mind, palm open and feeling himself.

His hands are _so_ much bigger, though, and they’d grip him tight by the waist, pull him flush against him, and Eddie’s other hand goes to feel his cock trapped in his pants, pretending it’s the weight of Richie’s crotch grinding down on him.

He’s so hard he could die, his body rigid all over from the sexual frustration, so he discards his pants quickly to finally get where he wants, slicks his fingers up with lube, lets them rest on his perineum, teasing himself. 

Would Richie tease him like this? Would he touch him all over but where he needs it, suck on his inner thighs and let a hand roam close to his ass, but never quite there? Would he eat him out for hours, take way too long to prepare him, to have him keening and pleading and panting? He dips lower to circle a finger around his hole, grabs his dick with a groan, and starts fingering himself. 

One, two, three fingers, slow and steady, in and out. Would that be enough to take Richie in? He has to slow the hand on his cock, already so close, practically pleading his body: no, not yet… He’s waited too long for this, he deserves it, after the torture these past few weeks have been.

He touches the cold tip of his vibrator to his hole, turned to a low setting, and he already knows this is gonna end way too soon, because life’s unfair like that. So he holds his breath and takes it all the way in, slow, thinks of Richie’s low voice in his ear, that raspy tone he gets when he’s tired, when he’s smoked too much, and grips his cock again, pushes the vibrator in, hard.

And he’s working both hands as fast as he can manage, rough as he needs it, back half arching off the bed, panting hard and moaning loud, way too horny to care if someone listens. Comes, praying “Richie, Richie, Richie…”

* 

“Yeeeeeahhh babey!!! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” Richie cheers, loud, as Eddie takes a small sip of a wine cooler.  
“Could you be any more annoying?” Eddie says, and Richie looks at him like this is the best day of his entire life. “You know what? Forget I said that.”

“Think I can’t take you up on a challenge, Edward?” Richie’s eyebrows are raising, amused.

“I know you can,” Eddie sighs, making his way to their wardrobe, “that’s the problem.”

He takes a good look at his clothes, pondering what to wear. “Wear something sexy,” Ben had said, when he’d asked. As if that were any fucking help.

“Okay, spill it,” He can feel Richie’s eyes at his back. “Where the hell are you going? The shushpense is absholutely _killing_ me, my boy,” he says that last part in a weird old man accent, pouting playfully while he gestures with one finger, as if he was scolding him.

Welp, there it is. Eddie was hoping he wouldn’t ask. He wasn’t even that sure about the whole thing himself, but his friends just wouldn’t shut up about it, all “Eddie, come on, you _need_ to get laid”, already sick of seeing him all fidgety and stressed because of Richie. And, well. He guessed he did. 

So he’d said yes to that pretty blond stranger, and here they were.

“I, uh. Have a date?” His voice has a slight uncertainty to it, more of a question than anything. 

“Oh,” he thought he’d seen Richie flinch, but when he added, brightly, “let’s get you all dolled up, then, darling,” while raising his bottle high, Eddie figured he had been imagining things. 

The next hour is a flurry of clothes and drinks and giggles, several shirts tossed around the floor, rejected.

“It’s the red shorts, Eds, I’m telling you!” Richie’s talking obnoxiously loud, already a bit tipsy. “They’re the way to any man’s heart,” he flutters his lashes and sighs deeply, dramatic, smiling warmly when it gets a laugh from Eddie.

“I’m not wearing the shorts, dumbass. The place is actually semi-nice.” He’s holding his nicest button up shirt, eyeing it thoughtfully. It’s purple silk, tight at just the right places. “Is this too much?”

“Hmmmmm,” Richie taps his chin, mock contemplatively. “I dunno, Eds. Think you’re gonna have to model it for me,” he says, trying to sound serious but failing miserably, face contorting around a smile.

Eddie thinks back on his life, trying to figure out what the hell he did to deserve all this, but he’s drawing a blank. “Are you fucking serious?” he asks, pained tone to his voice, already knowing damn well what the answer to his question was. Whenever Richie has a stupid idea, it’s practically impossible to get him to let go of it.

“Yup. I’m a professional, babe. No way I can judge properly like that,” he gestures at Eddie just holding the shirt to his front.

Eddie can’t help but shiver at the pet name, wonder if Richie would moan it to him while he fucked him. Even worse, if he’d call him that lovingly, holding his hand, nuzzling his neck. He tries to erase the thought. The words _just friends_ float through his mind, make him feel lightheaded.

So he just says, instead: “Would’ve thought a professional would know how to judge either way.”

“Come oooon,” Richie’s bouncing lightly on his bed, overexcited. “Strut. That. Stuff. Kaspbrak!” He punctuates each word with a clap.

Eddie makes a point to roll his eyes hard at him, but he’s already putting on the shirt with the pair of pants they decided on about half an hour ago, black slim fit that makes his ass look good. If he has to do it, he’s gonna do it right.

He walks as far as he can go from Richie, which isn’t really much, in their cubicle of a room. Starts walking towards him swinging his hips dramatically, hands running slowly from the top of his chest down, getting dangerously close to his crotch, Richie hooting loud all the way through it. The whole thing is very exaggerated, in a comical sort of way, but Richie’s eyes seem to darken anyways, clashing with his smile.

“_Phew!_” Richie wipes fake sweat from his forehead, “someone call a model’s scout! Boy’s a natural!”

Eddie giggles, plopping down on the bed next to him. “What do you really think, though? I actually need an opinion.”

“Want to know what _I_ think?” Richie’s staring at him in a weird sort of way. “I think you know you’re hot, Eds. And it’s so damn sexy it hurts.” Oh shit, oh _fuck_, Eddie tries gulping down the knot in his throat, fails miserably.

The whole world is spinning around him, and he grips the rumpled sheets tight. “Still have a good couple hours before the date,” Eddie says, pretending to check his watch, desperate to break this silence, this tension. “Wanna watch a movie until then?” He prays it sounds natural enough.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing,” Richie coughs, his voice a bit rough. “Can’t let these drinks go to waste, either. I have morals, you know?” he adds emphatically, with a wink, voice slowly going back to his normal: that loud, eternally taunting tone.

The air between them seems to lighten a bit while they bicker about what movie to watch. They’ve watched every single half-good movie on Netflix, so they settle on rummaging the thing for the worst one they can possibly find. There’s a comforting familiarity to it, the two of them together, immersed in their own world. But there’s still an undertone of something foreign and memorable swirling around the air, completely intoxicating.

When the movie starts, Richie promptly starts narrating over the badly acted voices, as is their usual, managing to make the movie’s terrible storyline sound even worse, each phrase coming out of the characters’ mouths crasser than the other. 

But he does it while staring at Eddie’s eyes, this time. Lingering, waiting to see him laugh. Their faces close from lying on the tiny bed, his eyes flickering to his mouth. 

Meanwhile Eddie’s hands let themselves roam more freely than usual, leave their usual place around Richie’s middle and skirt through his thighs, make Richie’s breath tremble while he talks, push the limits of platonic. In his boldness, he lets a finger touch Richie’s jawline, a barely-there touch, his thumb resting on his cheekbone, caressing it lightly. 

That’s when Eddie’s alarm decides it wants to ruin his life, and starts ringing. They stare at each other for a few seconds that feel like minutes, in their daze, and Eddie finally gets up to turn it off. He stands there awkwardly, not knowing what to say, alternatingly looking at Richie and the floor. 

When he says nothing, Eddie tries for casual, controlling his voice the best he can. “Well. Guess that’s my cue.” 

Richie just keeps looking at him, his face making a journey through all five stages of grief, conflicted and pained. Eddie slowly makes his way to the door, and his whole body aches. 

“See you later, Ri-“ but he’s interrupted by a small “Eddie…”

“What?” His heart is banging on his ribs, hard, and Eddie sure hopes Richie gets it out soon because he thinks he just might faint before hearing whatever he has to say. 

“Don’t go…” Richie says, and when the response isn’t immediate, he starts rambling, never one for awkward silences. “I mean, don’t go on that date. We can stay here! We can finish that movie; I’ll even make you dinner! Very old family recipe, it is. Hot Pokét,” he makes a miserable impression of a European sort of accent, “fine dish, heard it’s French. Then, I can show you the playlist I made you, it was supposed to be a secret, but you know,” his eyes look wild, and Eddie approaches him carefully, as if a single wrong step could scare him away. Richie raises himself from the bed to meet him, grabs his wrist desperately.

“You don’t really know that guy, right? Like, not really, and we can have so much more fun together, here, just the two of us, and –“ Eddie pulls him hard by the collar of his shirt and kisses him, getting a startled “hmmph!” noise out of him before he melts against him, wraps his arms around his waist.

Eddie immediately presses himself hard against Richie’s body, getting himself on his tiptoes, desperation burning in his limbs, and Richie moans gutturally.

“God, am I dreaming? Tell me I’m not dreaming Eds,” he’s already looking a bit wrecked when Eddie looks up at him: smiling giddily, hair a bit of a mess. “Go on! Pinch me,” he shakes Eddie by the shoulders.

“Kinky,” he says, amused, and that gets a loud laugh from Richie.

“You’d be surprised,” he winks, then pulls a whimpering Eddie on top of him while he sits himself back down on the bed.

Their kiss turns messy fast, Eddie suckling Richie’s bottom lip into his mouth and dragging his teeth over it gently. When Richie moans deep at that, pushes his hips up rough into Eddie, cock already fully hard, Eddie knows it’s all over for him. He licks into Richie’s parted lips and grinds at him, pulls Richie’s hands from his waist to his ass, and starts a slow rhythm. 

Richie lets one of his hands squeeze Eddie’s ass while the other goes back up to press itself to Eddie’s back under his shirt, palm open and trying to pull him even closer to his body. Eddie gasps at the feeling, goes to suck at his neck, his jaw, his earlobe. 

The desperation is starting to get to Eddie. His hands are completely tangled in Richie’s curls, and when Richie grinds particularly hard against him, he pulls on a handful of hair. Richie moans loud at that, disconnecting their lips and looking at him pleadingly, eyes wide and mouth slicked with spit.

“Is this okay?” Eddie pulls at Richie’s hair a little lighter, this time, but he has a feeling he knows the answer.

Richie splutters a laugh at him, as if he’d just asked the most ridiculous question in all history of humanity. “Are you kidding me, Eds?” His hands claw a bit at Eddie’s back, trying to make a point. “God. I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me, and I’m serious. Just say the word.” He sounds a bit like his breath has been completely knocked out of him, which… _Hot._

“Hmmm,” Eddie says teasingly, “always had a hunch you’d get off on having your hair pulled.”

“So you thought about it, huh?” Richie’s tone is cocky, looking up to him with a sinful smile on his face.

Eddie clicks his tongue, trying to hold his smile. “Mmm, I might,” diving back in for another kiss and knocking Richie back so he’s lying down on the bed. He sits back against Richie’s thighs, knees on either side of him, and starts unbuttoning the shirt they had chosen together not long ago. 

He’d marvel at the way your whole life can change in a few seconds, at it’s delightful unpredictability, but he has way more important things to worry about right now. Like how he’s about to get dicked down by Richie fucking Tozier, for one. 

Eddie revels in the way Richie’s eyes follow his hands as they unfasten each one of the little buttons, then zigzag all over his naked chest as if he can’t quite decide where he’d like to focus his attention first.

“My eyes are up here,” he announces jokingly, not really expecting a response.

“I’ve got the cutest fucking boy in this whole university shirtless and on top of me, Eddie,” Richie’s voice sounds winded. “Give a guy a break.”

Eddie smiles, feeling a bit like a thirteen-year-old girl with her first crush. “Take yours off too, then. Make it even,” he says, sliding his hands slowly under Richie’s shirt, tweaking a nipple. 

Richie sucks in a breath at that, and Eddie swears he hasn’t seen a shirt come off so quickly in his life. It’s like magic. 

As soon as Richie’s chest is exposed, he dives in hungrily, licking a line from his bellybutton up and stopping to kiss wetly at the softer flesh on his sides. When he finally gets close to his neck, he lets his breath ghost there, hot, then starts sucking marks at his collarbones, a hand going to rub at Richie’s erection. 

“You’re such a fucking _tease_,” Richie groans at him, looks at Eddie expectantly, waiting for whatever he has to give him.

“Yeah?” Eddie says, and he takes his hand off Richie’s clothed dick, goes to hook one on his beltloops, the other opening the button on his trousers and dragging the zipper down agonizingly slow, tooth by tooth. He finally takes his cock out, dripping, eyes fixed on Richie’s blown out ones, and Richie looks like he might drool from the way his mouth is hanging open. “Do you wanna taste it?” 

There’s a sob bubbling out of Richie’s mouth at that, and he plunges forwards as if woken from a trance. He gives Eddie’s cock a few long licks, looking up at him with doe eyes, then wraps his fingers at the base of his cock and sucks the tip into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks out. 

Eddie moans lustfully and a bit too loud, thinks of the hallways filled with students, actually hears their faint voices. He decides he doesn’t care, at all, with the way Richie is bobbing his head up and down now, with a straight up dreamy look in his face, like he’d be content to do this for the rest of his life. 

He feels his stomach coil hotly at that and promptly pushes Richie off, in awe of his discontented little moan. Eddie tugs his hair down, making Richie look him straight in his eyes. “Take off your pants. I wanna ride you.” 

Richie laughs at that, looks fondly at him. “I should’ve known you’d be this bossy in bed. Not that I’m complaining,” he says, with a wink, “just how I like them. Fiery.” He focuses on removing his tight skinny jeans. When he looks back up, victorious in his long battle against the stubborn piece of fabric, Eddie’s already fingering himself.

“God fuck, Edward, are you trying to make me come untouched? Bit of a warning would have been appreciated, thank you very much.” Richie says with no bite.

“You’d _better_ not come right now. I swear I’d kill you with my bare hands.” Richie’s laughing again, the sound settling warmly on Eddie’s stomach. “I’m serious! Don’t fucking test me,” he says, tender smile on his face betraying his tone.

Richie just grabs him tight and kisses him hard, before taking the lube from Eddie and pouring a bit on his fingers. Eddie’s fantasies prove to have been right: like a divine prophecy, one of Richie’s fingers feels like almost two of Eddies, reach way deeper inside him, and Eddie’s breaths are coming out in short little pants.

While Richie works that one finger in slowly, opening him up, Eddie pulls Richie’s underwear off him. He has to hold himself from coming when Richie’s cock bobs up to his stomach, looking almost swollen, red, and _huge_. He grieves at the fact he won’t be able to roll his eyes with teasing doubt whenever Richie boasts about it, anymore.

“Hurry the fuck up, I’m not gonna last,” he warns. Richie makes a strangled sound and adds a second finger. He only has time to adjust them and move them in and out a couple times when Eddie starts pulling his hand off. “I’m ready,” he says, impatient, and when Richie asks him if he’s sure, he just nods his head quickly and opens a condom, rolls it down Richie’s length. Then he’s aligning himself, lets the head of Richie’s dick rest right against his hole. 

They both moan, loud, as Eddie lowers himself down on Richie’s dick, and they can hear a faint wolf whistle coming from the hallway. Eddie’s already flushed face reddens even more and Richie’s trying to hold in his giggles. “Shut up!” Eddie says, fully sat on Richie’s cock.

“I didn’t even say anything this time!” Richie protests, looking giddy. “World’s full of criti-“ and he’s interrupted by Eddie raising his hips a bit and pounding them down hard.

“I said shut up,” he looks at Richie provocatively. Richie puts a big hand over his mouth, covering it with a wink, and Eddie feels like he’s never seen anything hotter in his life. 

He starts a steady rhythm, grinding his ass down. Richie’s immediately back on his bullshit, words spilling out of his mouth, “god, baby, you feel so fucking good, look even fucking better. You like this? Want me to come buried all the way inside you?” But Eddie feels like he doesn’t really care, this time, that Richie’s horny gibberish is just making him ride faster, egging him on with moaned yeahs. 

Eddie picks up the pace and soon they’re both coming, Eddie first, so hard a bit of come ends up on Richie’s face. Then Richie’s fucking up into him erratically, finishing with gasps in just less than a minute.

* 

Eddie’s so happy he swears he can feel himself glow. He’s sure he’s radiating light all around, pressed to Richie’s panting chest like this, their legs entwined and their jaws starting to hurt from all their dizzy smiling. A few blissful moments pass between them, all warm and satisfied, when Richie starts to get a bit squirmy.

He’s mumbling unintelligible stuff under his breath, moving his arms around nervously, rolling around to change positions constantly. He finally spews, bitterly, “this was great, yeah? But I guess you’ll have to reschedule that date, now. How unfortunate.” He’s facing away from Eddie, arms crossed self-consciously over his chest.

That’s when Eddie realizes he had been wrong, before, in thinking that was the happiest he’d ever been. Because Richie’s straight up _jealous_ of him, of an insignificant date he was never really interested in. Because Richie wants him the exact same way Eddie’s wanted him for a while, now. He feels warm all over at the revelation, feels like he can swim in the love that’s surrounding the both of them.

“Yeah, I might,” he smiles at him, adoringly. “How about right now? Go on, get dressed!” Eddie pushes at his shoulder playfully.

“What?” Richie turns himself to Eddie and he looks dumbstruck, opening his mouth a few times but saying nothing, like his words are failing him. Eddie wants to wrap himself around him and never let go.

“Let’s go together,” Eddie says, softly, brushing a finger over Richie’s cheek. “Do you want to?”

“Do I want to?” Richie’s voice is tinged with that delightful edge of teasing happiness that nobody else can quite replicate, in Eddie’s absolutely not biased opinion. “Do I fucking want to?” He laughs loud, grabbing Eddie and smothering him with kisses, twirling him around. He laughs even louder at Eddie’s _‘Hey! Let me go!’_s, but he does put him back on the ground, immediately crashing their lips together.

* 

“So, Richie…” Eddie starts, with a mock-studious tone, after they finally finish getting dressed and head down the hallway together, hand in hand. He notices Richie’s nail polish is already cracking again. “Guess I got you speechless for a moment there, when I asked you out.” Eddie smirks at him, tilting his head back to look at his face.

“Blasphemy!” Richie squawks.

“Just admit it,” Eddie pauses, dramatically, “or I’ll never let you near my dick again.” 

“Fine,” Richie pretends to sigh, “just don’t tell anyone about it. It’ll ruin my reputation,” he smiles, dopily, and kisses the top of his head.

“About fucking time,” a voice says behind them, “I swear I considered straight up dropping out from how unbearably dense the both of you were being.” Eddie recognizes it immediately.

Stan’s tone is serious but he has one of his rare one hundred kilowatt smiles, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides and has you smiling along before you even notice. He waves back at them and keeps walking, not wanting to interrupt. 

Eddie looks up at Richie at that, at his blushy cheeks, his gigantic fucking glasses and the way his hair curled close to his neck, and his heart flutters. Maybe Stan moving out wasn’t so bad, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand it's finished! let me know if you like this chapter, im still not sure how i feel about it. thank you so much for reading!  
chapter title from good old days by the libertines
> 
> if u wanna chat my writing tumblr sideblog is [@jd-writing](https://jd-writing.tumblr.com/)!!  
  
EDIT: i found this art by @thotfuss on tumblr and this is _exactly_ how i picture my college richie so if u need help visualizing [here](https://thotfuss.tumblr.com/post/184769987142/richie-tozier-paints-every-nail-a-different-color) y’all go <3


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